


After The Calm

by IsolationShepherd



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abby saving Kane, Caring, F/M, Hands, Kabby, Kane saving Abby, One Shot, The Calm, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 08:31:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsolationShepherd/pseuds/IsolationShepherd
Summary: Set after the end of season 1 episode 11 The Calm. After Kane injures his hand rescuing Abby, when we next see him in episode 12 his hand is bandaged. I got to wondering if it was Abby who cared for him, and how that scene went. This is the result!





	After The Calm

Abby sorts the surgical implements she has just cleaned, arranging, and rearranging them until they are in a perfect order of usefulness. The task is soothing, giving her a sense of calm after the chaos of the last few hours. Once she has finished laying them out on the blue cloth covering the table, she touches them, tracing their outlines, feeling the cold steel even through latexed fingers. Each tool has its purpose, not just to cut, or slice, or puncture, but to heal, relieve, secure. She is at home here, in Medical, with everything she needs to hand. The fans are working again, and the air is cool, and as sweet as recycled air can ever be.

How different to earlier, when she was cast adrift, unsure of where she was, and so hot she struggled to breathe. She had tried to stay conscious, fighting the urge to sleep, but the heat sapped her energy; she could feel it leaking out of her with every bead of sweat. She knew that her body was shutting down, trying to prioritise her vital organs, which were overworked trying to keep her cool. They were failing. It’s true that you can feel your life slipping away. It’s not like a long dark tunnel or a journey, it’s more of a relinquishing. You fight, and you fight, and then you realise that you can’t stop it, and acceptance follows, and with that peace. It is like watching a boat come untethered from its mooring. You try to grab the rope, but it’s out of reach, and all you can do is watch it drift further out to sea. The waves are gentle, but relentless, the sun is setting on the horizon, and the sky is flushed orange. The boat is just a speck of black now, briefly illuminated against the sky until it merges with the sunset, and is gone. It is so beautiful and peaceful that you don’t realise it will never come back. That this is the end of everything. The end of you.

She was watching that boat as it drifted towards the horizon when she felt strong arms shaking her, heard a familiar voice she couldn’t place telling her to wake up. She had thought she was delirious when she opened her eyes and saw the face of Marcus Kane inches from her own, his eyes boring into hers, dark and pleading. His hands were cradling her face, and she had stared at him, trying to bring the scene into focus, to work out whether this was real or a dream. A memory of strong arms flinging her into the service bay bubbled to the surface, not Kane’s arms, but the arms of a rebel. One of Diana’s treacherous supporters. The fog lifted from her mind and suddenly she knew exactly where she was and what had happened. Kane had smiled at her, relief and something like happiness on his face. He pulled her closer and she rested her head on his chest. They were both sweat-soaked and burning, but it felt good, safe, right. He was solid, and she clung to him, let him tether her to him, so that they were each other’s anchor. How strange, she remembered thinking. How strange, that it should be him, Marcus Kane, who saved her.

When she can no longer justify rearranging the tools any further, Abby walks through to the makeshift intensive care room, where Jackson is monitoring a patient, a young girl who was injured in the bomb blast.

“How’s she doing?”

“Still stable. Her vital signs are weak but she’s holding on.”

Abby goes over to the girl, strokes her ash blonde hair.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can do it.” There is no response, and Abby doesn’t really expect one. The girl has been in a coma since she was brought in. Abby doesn’t know who she is, has never treated her before, and nobody has come to look for her. Her parents must have died in the bomb blast, or escaped in the dropship. It has to be the former, for surely no parent would leave their child behind. Abby has sent her own daughter to Earth of course, but she would never have gone herself without Clarke.

“How are you feeling? You look pale.” Jackson had treated Abby when Kane brought her to Medical after they had both recovered enough to get out of the service bay. Her young assistant had not wanted to discharge her, but that was more because he likes to fuss over her than any medical need. A saline injection and plenty of fluids was all Abby had needed.

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that.”

“Because I always am. In fact, I came in to tell you to go and get some rest. I’ll take over here.”

“You’re the one who needs the rest, Abby.”

“I really don’t. I slept heaven knows how many hours away in the service bay. Now go.”

Jackson squeezes her arm and heads out of the door. She lied to him, of course, she is bone tired, but he has been working longer than she has and needs a break. She hears him talking to someone in the other room, and after a quick check of the monitors she pokes her head around the door to see who has arrived. Kane is standing next to the treatment table. He’s still in the clothes he was wearing earlier, although he’s added a jacket now that it’s cooler. His face is streaked with dirt, and his hair, normally so neat and contained, is sticking out in every direction. A few strands hang together in a stiff curl that points accusingly at Abby. She wants to reach out and smooth it down, because it’s making her feel guilty of something but she doesn’t know what. The urge is so strong she has to curl her fingers into fists to keep them by her side.

“Marcus.”

“Abby.”

“You haven’t been home yet, I see,”

He shakes his head. “I haven’t had time. It doesn’t look as though you’ve had any rest either.”

“You’re the second person to say that. Do I look that bad?”

“No. It’s just.” Kane gestures to her clothes. “You look the same as when I found you.  Apart from the lab coat. And your face is...” He trails off.

“What about my face?”

“It’s dirty. Really dirty.”

“Oh.” Abby rubs a couple of fingers across her cheeks and then inspects them. The cream gloves are streaked with black. She had washed her hands, of course, as soon as she was cleared by Jackson. Scrubbed them clean, but she hadn’t given a second thought to any other part of her body, just swept up some loose hairs into her ponytail and got on with her work.

She feels judged by Kane, even though he has only made the same observation of her that she has made of him. “I washed my hands!” she says, hating that her words sound so defensive. He always does this to her, even when he doesn’t mean to.

“Of course.” He nods and half smiles.

Abby sighs. It’s been a long day and she’s not in the mood for Kane and his silent condescension. It’s churlish of her, given that he saved her life, but she’s too tired for politeness.

“What can I do for you, Marcus?”

“I just came to see how you are.”

“Oh.” Now she feels bad, and she softens, gives him a warm smile.

“I didn’t get a chance to speak to you earlier, after we came here. Jackson pushed me out of the way. He’s protective of you.”

Abby laughs. “Yes, he can be.”

Kane nods again. He’s standing awkwardly, his right hand swinging slightly by his side, his left hand held at waist height, fingers curled. “So then. Are you okay?” he repeats.

“Yes, I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t look fine. There’s something about the way he’s holding his hand that sets her doctor sense tingling. There are beads of sweat forming on his brow, despite the cold.

“Is something wrong with your hand?”

He looks down at his hand, tries to uncurl his fingers, and winces.

“I burned myself earlier.”

“Let me see.” She takes his hand, lifts it up so she can see it closely. It’s not just burned, the outer dermis has been ripped off his palm and his fingers, leaving the layer beneath exposed and raw. It must be extremely painful, but he says nothing, just waits silently while she examines it.

“Marcus!” She looks up at him. His eyes are dark, and narrowed, his mouth set tight, lips curled up slightly at the edges as he fights the pain. “This needs treating. You have dirt and God knows what in the wound already. It will get infected if it remains exposed to the air. Why didn’t you come here earlier?”

“You needed care yourself, and Jackson was busy. It’s not a life-threatening injury.”

“You’re wrong. An infection in a wound this size could have serious consequences. Tell me how you did it while I clean myself up.”

Abby goes to the sink while Kane talks, strips off her dirty gloves, and washes her hands. Then she thinks about her face, and how she must look to Kane, and washes that too. The water is black when she is finished. She sterilises her hands again and snaps on a fresh pair of gloves.

“I knew the handle would be hot,” he is saying, “but not that hot. I really didn’t feel the pain, though, until later.”

“That’s adrenaline for you. I need to examine it properly. Take your jacket off.”

Kane tries to undo his zipper one-handed, but it gets stuck and he struggles to shift it.

“Here, let me.” Abby leans in, and grabs hold of the zipper. It won’t budge, and the teeth seem to have got caught in the wrong place. “Dammit.”

“You need to push it back up again before trying to pull it down.”

“I know how to undo a zipper, Marcus.”

“I can help.”

He brings his good hand up to grab hold of the zipper, his fingers tangling with hers and they fight each other for a moment, each of them trying to get a grip. Finally, Kane gets the zipper to move up, and Abby holds his jacket straight to give him a smooth run as he pulls it down again. The zipper undoes and his jacket flaps open.

“Teamwork,” he says, and Abby laughs.

“I wouldn’t place a bet on us to win any trophies.”

“I don’t know about that. We got there in the end.” He gives her a shy half smile, a look she hasn’t seen on his face for many years. It flusters her, makes her face warm, and she changes the subject.

“How did you get it on in the first place?”

“Sinclair helped me.”

She helps him shrug his good arm out of the jacket and then eases it over his injured hand. At last he is free, and she can get a better look at him. She rolls up his sleeve so her view is unencumbered. His arm is peppered purple and blue with bruises.

“Where are these from?”

He shrugs. “Probably from crawling through the vent. There were cables and all sorts of obstructions in my way.”

She peers at his hand so that he can’t see her face, because there are tears pricking her eyes. The lengths to which he had gone in order to rescue the survivors were clear to her now. What he must have endured, crawling through that narrow, blistering shaft! He was so matter-of-fact about it, like it was nothing, another day at the office. It was unlike him, to be so self-sacrificing, and yet the way he had gone about it, determined to reach his goal no matter what lay in his way, was quintessential Marcus Kane.

She gets herself under control, and looks at him. “I’ll have to cut away some of this damaged skin so that I can clean the wound properly. I’ll give you a local anaesthetic.”

She selects a needle from her array of implements, and goes to the cupboard to get the anaesthetic. When she returns he is perched on the examining table, cradling his hand.

“Hold out your hand.”

“I don’t need the injection. It’s fine.”

“Marcus, it will be very painful without it.”

“It’s very painful now.”

“Just close your eyes, and turn your head away.”

He does as she asks, and she fills the needle with the dose. His hand is trembling when she holds it.

“I need to tell you something,” she says. “No, don’t look at me.”

“What is it?”

“When we were young, it was me who glued all of Captain Morrison’s equipment to his desk and left your notepad there to point to your guilt.”

Kane stiffens, his eyes fly open, and he starts to turn towards her.

She slides the needle quickly in and out while he is working up his indignation.

“That was you? I got in a lot of trouble for that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He pulls his hand away. “I don’t think I trust you not to poison me with that thing.”

“Too late. It’s done.”

He peers at his hand, looking for the puncture mark. Abby smiles as she picks up her scalpel.

“Now, give me that hand back.”

He lets her take his hand and looks away while she carefully excises the broken skin from the edges of the wound.

“Why did you do it?”

“Glue Morrison’s stuff, or blame you?”

“Both.”

“You had annoyed me.”

“Well, that is nothing new.”

“No. Some things never change.”

Kane smiles at her reply. “What had I done?”

“Honestly, I can’t remember, but it must have been really bad because I didn’t confess.”

“I was sent to the sky box for a week!”

“I remember that part.”

She pours some antiseptic wash into a bath and bathes his hand with it, cleaning the dirt and the grit out of the crevices.

“Didn’t you feel the slightest bit guilty?”

“I must have, because I still remember it nearly thirty years later.”

“I always wondered who hated me that much.”

Abby pauses, his words cutting into her with the sharpness of her scalpel. Her heart rate picks up and sweat forms on her hands inside her gloves.

“I didn’t hate you. I’ve never hated you, Marcus.”

He doesn’t answer, and a pain grips Abby’s chest, a constriction that makes it hard for her to breathe. She holds his hand tightly, feeling the warmth of him, the life that is pulsing through his veins. For so many years now she has barely thought of him as a human being, with all the complexities of character that comes with humanity. He has been an obstacle; a stubborn, infuriating, cold statue whose mission in life it seems to her is to block her at every turn. She had forgotten he was a man, made of flesh and blood, who hurts when he is wounded, feels the pain inflicted on him. She had thought him incapable of such emotions, and he had done nothing to dispel that idea, until recently.

“Hold this.” She takes his good hand and places it under the damaged one so he is supporting himself, and goes to the cupboard again to find antiseptic cream and a bandage. She breathes deeply, trying not to think of him sitting alone in the prison cell wondering who would do such a thing to him. He had been so cocky when he was sent there, as though his punishment was a minor inconvenience, and she had been so infuriated with him for a reason she could no longer remember, she had vowed not to own up until he showed some humility, which of course he never had. She should have known it was all bravado, but when you’re young you take other people at face value, and she had fallen for his no big deal attitude.

She turns, and sees that he is watching her. She hesitates, and they look into each other’s eyes, and she can’t tell what he is thinking. He is closed up as always, whereas she is quite sure she is an open book, and he is reading every page. She takes another deep breath and strides over to him, takes up his hand again with little ceremony and squeezes some cream onto the wound.

“Be gentle with me,” he says.

“Of course I will. Why would you say that?”

“You seem a little angry.”

“Yes. Well.” She clears her throat. “I don’t hate you.”

“It is bothering you, what I said?”

“I hadn’t realised you had felt that way about what happened. I brought it up to distract you, and now…”

“It is a mystery solved, that is all.”

That is not all, and they both know it, but for some reason he seems content to let it be; it is Abby who wants to pursue it, but to what conclusion?

“You know you’re infuriating, don’t you?” She massages the cream into his palm and across his fingers, and Kane lets his head drop back a little, closes his eyes.

“To you, perhaps.” He lets out a sigh that seems almost of pleasure, or at least contentment.

“Only to me?” Abby laughs but not unkindly, and he smiles.

“Hmmm.”

“Does this feel good?”

“Yes. It’s soothing.”

“It will hurt once the anaesthetic wears off.”

“That’s life.”

She studies him. Who is this man who risked his life to save his people, people he had had no qualms about jettisoning from the Ark just a few months ago when he wrote his population reduction plan? The events of the last weeks have changed him, humbled him. He is softer in every way, his actions, his words, how he looks at her, how he held her so tightly, so gratefully. She unpacks the bandage and puts the cotton pad on the wound.

“Hold that in place.”

He does as she asks, and she wraps the bandage around the edges and over his fingers.

“You can move it now.” He lets go and she bandages the rest of his hand neatly, seals the edge with tape. “There.” She admires her own handiwork, and so does Kane, turning his hand over to inspect it.

“Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome.”

He doesn’t move, and neither does she. They look at each other again.

“I will give you some antibiotics and painkillers. You will need to see me again in a couple of days so I can examine your progress.”

“If we have a couple of days.” He jumps down off the table, and goes to pick up his jacket.

“What do you mean?”

“The extent of damage to the Ark is greater than we feared. Jaha has called a Council meeting this afternoon to discuss it. You will come?”

“I’m no longer on the Council, as you know.”

“That doesn’t matter now.” He swings his jacket over his shoulder and turns to leave. Abby puts her hand on his arm.

“Marcus.” He turns back. “There’s something I haven’t said yet, not properly.”

“What is it?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saving me.” She takes his bandaged hand, brings it to her lips and places a gentle kiss on his knuckles. Then before he can answer she turns around and gathers up the used tools, takes them to the sink and starts to clean them. She can sense him standing there, looking at her, and then she hears him sigh, and the clatter of his boots on the metal floor as he leaves. She turns then, and looks at the space he has vacated. She’s not sure why she kissed his hand, out of gratitude perhaps, but it also feels like an acknowledgement, a wiping clean of the slate, that what is past is past. They have weathered the storm of their history together, and perhaps now calmer times are ahead, however short they may be.

 

 

 


End file.
